


The Raptors

by floatingkhoshekfloats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hogwarts, Multi, Rivals, Young Minerva McGonagall, friends - Freeform, school days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingkhoshekfloats/pseuds/floatingkhoshekfloats
Summary: A smattering of sketches of Minerva McGonagall's school days, the friendships made, but also the rivalries as powerful as friendship and just as binding. Aka, how Minerva essentially had her own Mauraders back in the day and was barely raised an eyebrow when the Mauraders arrived at Hogwarts years later.Inspired by this post: http://floating-khoshek-floats.tumblr.com/post/149636158026/kyraneko-alrightanakin-legally-bitchtastic





	

Minerva McGonagall, eleven years old, was perfectly magical, thank you very much. Polite, rule-minded, and quiet bordering on shy, she was the last student any teacher would expect to be involved in mischief as she just didn’t hold with such nonsense. 

She was a good student almost immediately, apart from that brief incident on the train to Hogwarts when she purportedly started a fight with an older student (though witnesses agree she did not start it; she finished it, with a stern look, fake spell, and the well-timed use of Chocolate Frogs). And besides, fights don’t count if they’re stopping bullies, do they? 

The incident aside, Minerva quickly became a model student, attentive in her classes, well-liked by her professors, appreciated by her peers; however, as the months wore on, most of her fellow Gryffindors were perplexed by what had happened to the leonine courage shown on the train that had, in their opinion, at last landed her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw (as if one moment was all the Sorting Hat used to make its decision).  

Dark-haired and bronze-skinned, Minerva was short for her age and had a tendency to squint. She answered professors’ questions in class readily, but was tight-lipped when it came to questions about herself, no matter who they came from, or what they were about. It wasn’t that she had a big secret to keep; keeping to herself had just become habitual.

When Minerva woke to a crisp blue sky the Tuesday before Halloween, she wouldn’t have guessed that habit would be changing. She went to breakfast with her dormitory mates, listening to their chatter over tea and toast and eggs and sausage. When Charms homework came up, as was inevitable, most of the Gryffindors in her year clustered around her for help. And cheating. But Minerva did not believe in cheating and while she tried to bury her face in her schedule and let them face the consequences of their procrastination, she finally gave in and helped. After all, they were still learning this way and if the whole class did well on their homework, perhaps they could win house points. At any rate, it earned her housemates’ admiration. 

But not their friendship. 

Minerva told herself she didn’t much mind and went from Charms then downstairs to the dungeons for Potions then back up for Transfiguration (her favorite subject) then outside to the greenhouses for Herbology. The professor was ill that day and his class was being taught by one of the older students, a Hufflepuff sixth year called Pomona Sprout. She was a cheerful witch, short and round with ready smile, though Minerva thought she handed out house points a little too easily.

“Now this is a Bellum  Hyacinthoides Non-scripta, or Battle Bluebells. They’re very poisonous and very belligerent little diddies, but who can tell me what they’re useful for? Anyone?”

Minerva scanned the class and when none of them seemed to be forthcoming with the information, reluctantly raised her hand. 

“Yes, Miss….?” Pomona asked.

“Minerva McGonagall,” Minerva answered. “Crushed petals from the Battle Bluebells are commonly used in healing potions, particularly the Saluber Potion.”

“Oh yes! Excellent work. Oh, um, five, no ten points to Gryffindor.”

Minerva blushed faintly at the ten points when five would have done, but didn’t argue them, lowering her head and picking at the dirt on the table. 

“Right then,” Pomona continued. “Well, then let’s get to it. Oh, right. We’re collecting the blooms. You’ll want to clip them off like so and place them in the jar you’re sharing with a partner. Please use the gloves. And remember that they will fight back. If you get stabbed or cut, tell me immediately. I have the antibiotic for the poison.”

The class went at it, snipping and collecting and quickly learning the the Battle Bluebells were aptly named, the thin stemmed flowers swinging around at the first fall of a flower head and trying to cut the would-be gardeners’ with retractable thorns. One bluebell hit Anna Mercot, a blonde girl with glasses, in the face and she started crying, several thin scratches on her cheek that Pomona hurried forward to treat. Then the class mischief maker, the red-headed Bobby Gillespie, screamed a battle cry and started hacking his bluebell with a spade, shouting, “I will avenge you!”

The lesson deteriorated quickly after that. 

Minerva ducked under the table with her bluebell and finished collecting the petals there in relative peace from the chaos above. When the class ended and the Gryffindors shuffled out, most of them sporting salve over red cuts, Minerva lingered. Pomona stood in the center of the greenhouse, her hands on her face, and shook her head. 

“Oh dear. That went more badly than I expected.”

“I have some blooms,” Minerva said hesitantly.

Pomona spun around. “Oh! Goodness me. I didn’t realize one of you was still here. You have blooms? Are you scratched?”

“No,” Minerva answered, handing over her bowl of tiny blue flowers. “I wore my gloves and did as you said.” 

“Ah, well, at least you’re not hurt,” Pomona said, looking over the remaining destruction. “I thought for sure first years could handle bluebells. Professor Nomencla didn’t have a lesson plan and told me to teach whatever I wanted. The bluebells needed harvested anyway and...oh dear. I was too ambitious, wasn’t I? I know I was.”

“I thought it was a wonderful lesson,” Minerva said immediately. “But perhaps…”

Pomona winced. “Yes?”

“Well, the bluebells were more...belligerent than I thought they’d be.”

“Belligerent? Now there’s a Scrabble winning word,” Pomona mused, impressed. “But you do make a good point. They aren’t normally quite that combative…”

But Minerva had lost interest in the bluebells. “Scrabble…?”

Pomona blinked. “Hm? Oh.” She blushed. “It’s a Muggle board game. With words. Difficult to explain if you--”

“Yes. I...I play it with my father sometimes,” Minerva said.

The Hufflepuff witch straightened. “Oh! You know it! I actually...I actually bring mine with me every year. Wizard chess is fun, but once in awhile, I like to play a game that doesn’t yell at me every other move or explode in my face. And it did wonders for homesickness the first few years.” Pomona eyed the first year carefully. “Would you be interested in a game or two of Scrabble some evening?”

Minerva’s eyes widened and she nodded without even thinking. “Yes.”

“Splendid,” Pomona said with a smile. “Friday afternoon?”

“That, that sounds good.”

“Great! I’ll see you then. Minerva, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Chin up, Minerva. They’re always slow to warm up to the smart ones. But they will.”

Minerva waited for Friday with rising eagerness only matched by her apprehension. She kept expecting Pomona to cancel, or worse, simply not show up, but every time the older student spotted her in the Great Hall or passing in a class she’d smile and wink, calling “Still on for Friday?” Every time Minerva nodded with tiny bit less surprise until Friday afternoon arrived and she stood in front of the enormous main doors of the castle, waiting on the steps for Pomona. 

She only waited a few minutes before Pomona came bustling along from the direction of the greenhouses, arms full of plants, a dirt-covered satchel slung over her shoulder.

“Hullo there, Minerva! Right on time! I hope you don’t mind if I brought along some homework, but they need lots of attention and I think they’ll enjoy our game.”

Minerva eyed the plants, but simply said, “I don’t mind.”

“Splendid!” Pomona announced, leading the way onto the grounds, Minerva at her heels. “The weather is simply too fine to spend it indoors, don’t you think? It’ll be cold again soon enough.”

They set up under the tree by the lake, arraying Pomona’s plants in the sun, then the Scrabble board between them. Minerva was hesitant at first, making safe choices and letting Pomona do most of the talking for them, watching the giant squid sun itself in the shallows between moves. But gradually Pomona’s bubbly personality drew Minerva from herself until she was shyly confessing how much she enjoyed herbology.  It reminded her of home and working in the garden behind the parrish house with her father, planting beans and peppers and tomatoes. It was an uncomplicated thing, gardening with him. So long as she didn’t accidentally make the leaves dance with his whistling or the tomatoes grow too high and too perfect. 

“Doesn’t he know you’re a witch?” Pomona asked.

“Yes, but...we try not to mention it whenever we can. It’s complicated. I’m...I’m proud I’m a witch. I am. It’s just easier if I’m not when I’m at home.”

Pomona gazed sympathetically at her, then reached out to squeeze her hand. “It doesn’t have to be complicated here. You can be yourself, Minerva, whomever you wish to be, magic and Scrabble and all. You don’t have to be just a witch or just a Muggle now. You can be fully both. This is a good place for second chances and new beginnings and first efforts. You can be a force to be reckoned with I think, if you so desired.”

Minerva smiled shyly. “Do you think?”

“Oh, I know it. Absolutely.”

Minerva’s smile grew, blossoming as surely as the plants sitting in the sun and growing off their conversation. Hogwarts had been just a place to her before, but now, sitting with her new friend in the sun with the wind dancing over the lake’s surface and laughter bouncing around the grounds, she suddenly thought that maybe it could be home.


End file.
